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Ghosts of the Past
---- ---- January 14th, 23:04. Los Angeles, California. "Found another one of them hiding inside the vault." "Then it's a good thing that you didn't use your quirk after all." "Sure is. All thanks to Viktor." Night had fallen over Los Angeles as the red and blue lights of police lit up the grounds, several police vehicles scattered and even more police officers scouring the area with torches and weapons in hand. The Arsenal Hero, Overkill, firmly surrendered a dark haired young man over to an officer, clad in black clothing with a strange mask over his face. Without any regard for a fellow human being, the officer immediately pushed him into the back seat of a nearby police car, holding a large smile on his face. He slammed the car door loudly with a smile on his face, looking at the last of the terrorists before turning back to Overkill. "We appreciate your work here Overkill. Know where the rest of the Four Horsemen went off to?" He asked, shoving a set of car keys down his side pocket. The large golden haired pro-hero shook his head as he turned back to look, a worrying essence filling up his shady eyes. Overkill looked back onto a large multi storied building, abandoned and degraded with vegetation having grown around the outside, slipping through windows and cracks of the walls. There were noticeable burn marks on some areas and blood splatters on others, a worrying sight if he had not known that these were of course the actions of his team mates. Even though he had the most destructive quirk of the four, the Rider of the Red Horse was more tame than his "hero" accomplices. His purple cape fluttered in the wind, waving back to point towards the torn down entrance of the mysterious building, once hiding the operations of the mentioned terrorists. Overkill could only cringe to think of what happened to the rest of the Horsemen whilst he had split off from the group, but in instances such as those, it what was needed at the time. "No idea. I haven't got word from Riders of the Pale and White horse, and I thought I saw the Rider of the Black horse just on top." Overkill recounted, shifting his view to the top edge of the building. "LET ME GO." A voice screamed from inside the police car. Both Overkill and the officer walked closer to the vehicle to peer inside, coming to see that the captured terrorist was shaking around in his cuffs, kicking his feet at the door's window. His mask was slightly moved to the side, exposing the side of his face, to which his red eye was visible from an angle. The fire that burned within his pupil was tempered and violent, and something that sent chills down Overkill's spine as soon as he saw it. The officer on the other hand had no fear and laughed at the captured's attempt, grabbing a baton from his side before proceeding to open the car door. Without missing a beat, the officer began waving the stick at the captured, beating the young man as his cries of anger turned into screams of pain. "AH. STOP. PLEASE. LET ME GO." "Shut up you piece of shit. You're lucky we're arresting you and not shooting you like the mutt you are." The officer yelled back in a sadistic manner. Being on the same side of the law with the officer made Overkill sick in the stomach, as the feeling of being obligated to stop such an act overwhelmed him. The only thing that stopped Overkill, however, was remembering what the terrorists were planning to do if they hadn't intervened. While what the officer was doing was abusive and out of line, what was planned by their targets was substantially much worse. Any punishment that was brought onto them would be just and fair, with them being found guilty as soon as they stepped foot into the courtroom. Well, whoever was left after the operation that is. After a period of beating, the young man within the car surrendered and laid on his side across the seats, breathing heavily and whimpering quietly under his breathes. The officer who was proceeding with the punishment drew back with a satisfied smile on his face after sheathing the baton, turning to Overkill to display his sadistic satisfaction. "Well. I'd say it was a job well done Mister Overkill. Want to go check in with the rest of the Four Horsemen?" Overkill's eyes squinted with distaste at the officer before her turned his head back to the building. "Fine. But leave the young man alone. He'll need his energy in the court to plea his innocence... If he has any." "Pffft. Innocence? The evidence we've got will easily tip the scales to guilty. If there's one thing I know Mister Overkill, is that this scum right here is going straight to prison." The officer waved off, chuckling at what he thought was Overkill's "joke". "The laws changed then it seems. Not like it was twenty years ago." Overkill sighed, disappointment flavouring his breathe. "Just don't touch him, and if I see anymore bruises on him, you can be sure that you won't have a job tomorrow..." He threatened, slowly making his way towards the entrance of the abandoned building. The officer's expression changed from entertained to dissatisfied, disturbed by Overkill's remark. He shifted his hand towards his pistol and gripped the handle, gently tracing his fingers towards the trigger of the firearm with the intent to harm. "Who do you think you are hero? You really think you're capable of doing that? You don't even know what us policemen go through everyday." "You'll be surprised if you search my name in the department records then." Overkill retorted, turning his head slightly so that he could see the officer from the side of his eye. "I'll be contacting your superiors tomorrow morning, Officer Langford." The police man stood there confused and irritated, wanting to shoot down the pro-hero where he stood. But something in his head held him back from doing so, not wanting to escalate the situation any further than its already reached. Turning back to the police car with the defeated young man in the back, the officer released a loud sigh before going for the front and entering the driver's seat. ---- "JOAN! VIKTOR! WHERE ARE YOU." Overkill's cries echoed throughout the empty dark halls, along with the clunking of his metal armour across the concrete floor. His purple cape followed just behind him as he made his way inward, noticing that there was a trail of blood that was smeared across the wall that led to a closed off door at the end. Confident that at least one of his teammates was behind the door, Overkill rushed towards the entrance in a charging motion, using his shoulder in front to act as a sort of ram. Almost effortlessly and without resistance, Overkill burst through to the other side, almost removing the door from its hinges and breaking whatever was keeping it closed in the first place. What Overkill had entered was a large medical auditorium, with a stage composed of an operating table and several small trolleys holding several medical tools. What was on top of the operating table certainly shook Overkill to his core as his eyes scanned over the stage. A moment of intense adrenaline prompted the hero to begin sprinting to the stage as tears swelled from shaded eyes, flying off the sides of his face as he ran. His large stature weighed him down but he was able to cover the distance in no time, moving through whatever rubble laid in his path. Upon reaching the stage and climbing up, Overkill had a clear view of what caught his attention, laying right ontop of the operating table. A lady, dressed in white with an oxygen mask strapped across her face laid contorted with her stomach cut open, as blood stained the work surface and floor. Upon a closer inspection it seemed as though all her entrails had been removed and replaced with balls of newspaper pages. At the sight of this, Overkill couldn't do anything but drop to his knees in fear and sadness, his throat closing up from the disturbing scene. He couldn't talk nor could he think straight as his eyes remained fixated on the woman, a cold sweat rolling from the top of his scalp down the side of his face. "Joan... How... What... Why?" Was all he could manage to say as he was frozen in place. This moment of weakness distracted Overkill long enough for an unknown figure to emerge from the shadows, clad in full black as black particles emitted from their very steps. An aura followed just behind as if the shadows of hell was just one step behind them at every moment. Their face was concealed with a hood that casted a shadow over their face, but their sky blue eyes peered from the darkness to look right at the shocked Overkill. Withdrawing a pistol from inside their cloak, they held it up and pointed it at the back of the hero's head, looking through only one eye for a better aim at his target as they prepared their shot. A moment of silence would pass as Overkill processed the scene whilst still remaining unaware of the mysterious figure's presence. Taking a silent deep breathe, the cloaked figure pulled back the hammer at the pack of the pistol with their thumb and quickly pulled the trigger, firing off a loud shot at the pro-hero. As the bang rang throughout the auditorium, both Overkill and his seemingly attacker remained in their position for a while, with Overkill still frozen in his kneeling position. Smoke drifted off the tip of the barrel and into the air, certainly wafting over to Overkill who quickly caught onto the scent, despite the loud sound being a loud enough notice of him not being alone anymore. The sharp scent of the smoke seemed to be more effective in snapping Overkill out of his shock as the hero turned his head to see who was behind him. The mysterious figure was recognisable as soon as Overkill noticed the black cloak and the gun in their hand, familiar to a point where he could even match a name to their being. "So is this your doing Jozef?" Overkill asked in a deep, grizzly tone, assuming that what happened to the lady was this mysterious figure's fault. "Who else would it be? Have you ever seen work so fine? Can't you see the message my art piece is trying to convey?" Jozef shot back, keeping the pistol aimed at Overkill incase he tried to do anything. "No. You can't. Because it's not complete. I need you as the final piece Christopher, so can you just die?" he continued before Overkill could respond, proceeding to fire several more shots at the large hero. Using his arm armour as a shield to block the incoming bullets, Overkill tried to push his way forward to Jozef in an attempt to grab him. With each bullet that came in his way, Overkill could feel the intense force of the projectiles sinking into his armour and causing him to stumbling for a moment. Loud shots rang throughout the building along with Jozef's crazed laughter, disturbing Overkill greatly as this was not the same Jozef that he knew of. As Overkill came closer and closer, Jozef made no attempt to escape as he continued to fire off bullets, laughing maniacally as he did so. "YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN HER FACE WHEN I DID IT. WHEN I SLICED HER STOMACH OPEN. THE FEAR IN HER EYES. IT WAS WONDERFUL." "SHUT UP" "SHE WATCHED EVERY SECOND AS I SHOWED HER HER INNARDS. AND HER SCREAMS. THEY WERE DELECTI-" "I SAID SHUT UP." Overkill ordered just as he got to Jozef's position, using his other arm to slam into Jozef's side and knock him off balance. The hooded man flung to the side with his whole body leaving the ground, falling into a trolley nearby filled with medical tools on each shelf. The force of Overkill's move had shot Jozef so quickly that the force he crashed into the trolley with forced some of the medical knives to pierce Jozef, sinking deep into his skin. Overkill watched from his position as Jozef slowly pulled himself back up now with his side impaled by several tools that stuck out, placing a menacing gaze back onto the hero with a sadistic smile. Overkill remained unfazed and marched towards his attacker with both his fists clenched, gritting his teeth to stop him from screaming. Jozef on the other hand let out a terrifying laugh before suddenly sprinting towards Overkill with his head in front, seemingly going to headbutt the larger pro-hero as a sort of last resort. Cocking his fist back, Overkill waited for Jozef to come within range before shooting a punch directed to the incoming head. With a direct hit, Overkill could feel Jozef's head cave in a bit before he was once again thrown back with his feet off the ground. The waves of anger and grief blinded Overkill to a point where justice no longer existed in the auditorium, and Overkill was free to do as he pleased against his opponent. Sprinting to where Jozef had landed nearby, Overkill threw a kick just as Jozef bounced off the ground, sending the cloaked man to fly further across as he let out a painful grunt. Overkill's rage was far too much for Jozef to handle as he wasn't given any opportunity to fight back, thrown around like a simple rag-doll to entertain Overkill's anger. Jozef had landed right into the wall at the back of the stage which he slid down back onto the ground, letting out one final grunt as he hit the floor. His whole body was weak, his arms were too painful to move and his head pounded like crazy. Jozef couldn't think straight as the world around him spun around, blinding him from the incoming Overkill who slowly made his way to him. At the mercy of the Arsenal Hero, Jozef fell back down onto the ground and sighed, trying his best to breathe in as much air as he could to retain consciousness. Whatever punishment Overkill was going to execute onto Jozef, it was now when the man was weak and vulnerable. "So... How... Do... You... Plan... On..." "Quiet Jozef. I'll be merciful and put you down instead of handing you over." Overkill interrupted, noticing that Jozef's speech was now slurred. Kneeling down to his attacker, Overkill pulled him up so that he sat in front of him, holding him in a choke hold with one hand reaching around the back of his head. Jozef's breathes became quick and fast, as if he knew what was going to happen in the incoming seconds. Overkill's large arms covered Jozef's upper body, making it easier for Overkill to look over to the side and pull his arms away from eachother, still gripping Jozef has he did so. In a final act of mercy, Overkill had broken Jozef's neck before laying him down peacefully on the floor, pulling the hood off to reveal the man's facial features. Blonde, pale skin with a tattoo under his right eye, a young man that he had rescued not too long before the formation of the Four Horsemen. Seeing him like that was strange for Overkill as Jozef was terribly uncomfortable with the sight of blood, and would almost faint as soon as he saw just a drop of it. But who else was Overkill to assume did that to the woman, there was noone left in the auditorium and Jozef had already proudly claimed her as his work. Overkill pulled himself from the floor and began moving to the exit that he had entered from, head hanging low in a moment of sadness and regret for what he had just done. ---- January 25th, 10:04. New Orleans, Louisiana. 2 Years Later. "DAD! YOU GOT MAIL." "ALRIGHT. I'M COMING DOWN NOW." Christopher yelled back in response as he made his way down the stairs. "MAKE SURE THEY DON'T GO ANYWHERE." "...OKAY." Fixing up his button up shirt and slicking back his hair just as he got to the bottom, he noticed that Jessica waited at the open front door, talking to a man in postal uniform with a large parcel in hand. Plastering a smile on his face, Christopher headed towards the door with his sleeves rolled up, opening the door wider so that the mail man could see both Jägers. "May I help you?" Christopher introduced himself, look the postal man up and down. "Yeah, I believe this is for you. And I'll need you to sign something as well, let me just grab it. I know it's here somewhere." He said, handing over the parcel before looking into his satchel, moving the contents inside out of the way as he did. Jessica stood patiently by her father as they both waited for the visit to end, standing there awkwardly as the postal man continued to shuffle through his bag. After a brief moment of searching, a small clipboard was withdrawn from the satchel and held out to Chirstopher, dangling a convenient pen hanging by a piece of string for him to sign with. Completing the transaction and sending the man off on his way, Overkill closed the door as both father and daughter released an exhausted sigh. Jessica's eyes immediately glimmered as she turned to face Christopher, using her childlike innocence to sway her father into revealing the parcel's contents. Christopher looked down at Jessica and rolled his eyes, beckoning with his head for the two of them to sit down and see what it was. Entering the lounge room and throwing themselves backwards onto the couch, Christopher pressed his fingers against the cardboard to slightly seperate it from the tape, looking for any loose bits to pull the tape off from. After a few seconds, he was able to gently pull off the tape which he placed on his side, holding the box still closed between him and Jessica for her to see. Dramatically, Christopher slowly opened the two lid flaps of the parcel and revealed a neatly folded costume within its container, sitting underneath a notable pair of gloves with metal tipped fingers. Both Christopher and Jessica's eyes were filled with awe as they looked over the package, with Christopher pulling out the suit and gloves carefully to keep it in good condition. "So uh. Is this your new suit dad?" Jessica asked with her head slightly tilted to the side. Christopher let out a jolly laugh at Jessica's remark, placing the costume on a coffee table right in front of them before picking the gloves up once again. "This? It's way too small for me Jess. Think about it for a second." "For Joseph then?" "He's too young..." "Me?" "...Well at least you got there in the end." Christopher laughed off, picking up Jessica's hand from her lap and effortlessly slipping on the glove. Pressing his fingers along each of the glove to check that her own fingers fit, Christopher smiled proudly as he took a good look at his daughter, now equipped with parts of the costume. Jessica squeezed the glove a few times to get used to the feeling of the material, feeling content that it almost felt like nothing despite the cold metal finger tips. She smiled back at her father with delight and stood up, taking the suit and unravelling it into its true glory. Her eyes lit up at the sight and the same giddiness she was known for as a child came back to her now in her teen years. Christopher could only watch as Jessica expressed her happiness through the bright atmosphere that surrounded her being, lighting up the room and bringing a sense of calm clarity to Christopher's mind. He leaned back into the couch and soaked in this fatherly moment, watching his little girl follow in his footsteps of becoming a hero. Picking up the empty box and the tape from the couch, Christopher pulled himself off the go deposit it into the bin, leaving Jessica to spend time with her new hero suit. As he reached the dining room just next door to the lounge, Christopher headed for the small bin that sat at the end of the countertop. Stepping on the small lever that flipped the bin's top open, Christopher was ready to just throw the parcel in and return to enjoy the moment with his daughter. However, something about the box seemed shifty, as if the inside seemed to be a bit more smaller than its outside hinted it to be. Removing his foot from the bin's lever and seating himself at a stool at the counter, Christopher began examining the parcel by tracing his fingers along the crevices, gently pressing his finger downwards into the cardboard. That was all that was needed as Christopher realised that it was hollow underneath the apparent bottom of the parcel. Digging his finger into the edge of the bottom and levering the bottom up, Christopher discovered a hidden compartment with a thin phone and several photographs taken at different angles, as if whoever was taking them wanted to stay out of the pictured target's sight. Alarmed by this small easter egg hidden from normal eyes, Christopher immediately pick up the phone and opened it, moving to the phones contacts to find only one registered number. Out of nowhere, the phone began receiving a call from this one recognised contact, simply listed as Remnant, vibrating and alarming in Christopher's hand. Trying to hide it away from Jessica, Christopher spared no second to answer the call, quickly bringing it up to his ear to hear whoever was on the other side of the line. Both the caller and Christopher remained quiet, waiting to see who was going to be the first person to greet the other. But after a period of silence, Christopher decided to take the first shot. "Hello? Who is this?" he asked in a grizzly tone. "...Mis-Mister Overkill?" The caller finally asked, their voice seemingly trembling. Christopher was unimpressed and raised an eyebrow, "Who's asking?" "Oh. Good." They said, this time more confidently and clearly than their introduction. The tone and manner they spoke in drastically changed as a sort of sinister tone flavoured their words. "I've been waiting for a long time for this Mister Overkill. Are you able to recount what happened on January 14th? 2 years ago? Los Angeles?" He could feel his stomach drop as soon as the caller recalled those specific details, finding that his throat had closed up and stopped him from speaking at the moment. He clenched his free hand whilst a cold sweat dripped down his face, flashbacks of that night running through his mind. Every scene was worse then the last until Christopher remembered both Jozef and Joan in the auditorium, and what he had done to Jozef after he attacked him. Christopher turned his head to the living room to see if Jessica was still there, but it looks as though she had taken the costume to her room to try it on. Turning back to face the table, Christopher rubbed his throat before trying to produce words in attempt to continue the conversation. "W-who are you?" He asked with a violent tremble in his voice. "You're nervous Mister Overkill? It's a shame you don't remember me. It really is. Although, I'd consider what happened to the rest of the Four Horsemen to be even more of a shame if you ask me. But would you really be asking scum like me for their opinions?" The caller responded, their devious smile almost visible through the tone of his words. "Officer Langford didn't make it home nor to the station that night, though I think he had it coming, beating me like that only showed that he was scared." Christopher's eyes opened, realising who was on the other side of the phone call. Their voice was eerily similar to the young man that he had brought back to the police officer, only to be beaten after letting out a tantrum inside the police vehicle. "Who are you?" he repeated his words, wanting a name to remember the voice by. "A remnant of your past Mister Overkill. You should really bring back the Four Horsemen though. See, I've already given you a selection to pick from." He replied, hinting to the photographs that Christopher discovered alongside the phone. "See there's a catch to this. By doing this, you're able to save three or even four if you don't count yourself among them. Thing is, those who aren't chosen will be hunted down and killed I'm afraid. Take a good hard look at them and feel the weight of their lives on your very hands Overkill. You've got six months." The caller threatened, a hint of excited giddiness in their voice near the end of their sentence. Just like that, the call ended and Christopher sat in the dining room in complete silence. He looked through the photographs and shuffled between each image, taking a good look at each one of them to see if he recognised any. Midway as he was shuffling through them, however, he noticed that there was writing on the back of them, written in a messy blue pen that stood out against the paper white back. Christopher started over again but this time looking at the image and then turning to the back to read their description. There was eight in total, which meant that only half of them was endangered by the mysterious caller. One of the most notable similarities between all the selectees was the fact that some were attending school, with most of that number in third year with very few in second year. School children in the hero courses were being threatened, something that Christopher just couldn't stand by and continued to shuffle through the photos. He threw the photos and the phone straight onto the table before planting his face into his hands, trying to think of a way to get past this. He had to comply and knew that if he was to tell anyone about this mysterious caller and their plan would certainly bring more dire consequences. Christopher wanted to scream and yell at the world for this sudden pain, but he knew better than to burst out in emotion. After all those years in the police force and as a hero, he though he would have been able to handle something such as this. ---- Category:One-Shot Stories